vicki's posts with tag: amigos
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Face The Face We've got to face the face You must have heard the cautionary tales The dangers hidden on the cul-de-sac trails >From wiser men who have been through it all And the ghosts of failures spray-canned up on the wall We've got to judge the judge Got to find the finds We've got to scheme the schemes Have to line the lines We must stake the stakes And show the shown We must take the takes And know the known Try to place the place Where we can face the face Face the face-got to Face the face You must have tried and the defied belief Maybe found futility in insular grief I need your hunger just as you need mine A million appetites can swallow up time We've got to fool the fools And plan the plans We must rule the rules Got to stand the stands We must fight the fight And fall the falls We must light the light And call the calls We must race the race So we can face the face New York! Chicago! London and Glasgow! Keep looking! Keep on cooking Keep on looking Gotta stay on this case Study the pix Watch the fix We've got to find the face Try to place the place where we can face the face
Pete Townshend
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|  | Ela alimentou minha ilusão Quando ganhou meu coração Quando enfeitou meu barracão Fez meu samba se modificar Meu verso a ela dedicar Fez tudo isso, e muito mais
Ela, só ela Deu jeito de cedo pra casa eu voltar
Fez tudo pra escola de samba desfilar Sambou quatro dias sorrindo Pra escola e meu samba vencer Rainha, estandarte girando Me olhando pra não me perder Me amando sem dor, sem asfalto Sem glória após o carnaval Pra ela eu canto mais alto
Ela, só ela Feliz faz a vida pra nós desfilar |
|  | O homem é o gênio, a mulher o anjo. O gênio é imensurável; o anjo é indefinível.
Victor Hugo
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meninos queridos...
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Dance Figure
Dark-eyed, O woman of my dreams, Ivory sandalled, There is none like thee among the dancers, None with swift feet. I have not found thee in the tents, In the broken darkness. I have not found thee at the well-head Among the women with pitchers. Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark; Thy face as a river with lights.
White as an almond are thy shoulders; As new almonds stripped from the husk. They guard thee not with eunuchs; Not with bars of copper.
Gilt turquoise and silver are in the place of thy rest. A brown robe, with threads of gold woven in patterns, hast thou gathered about thee, O Nathat-Ikanaie, 'Tree-at-the-river'.
As a rillet among the sedge are thy hands upon me; Thy fingers a frosted stream.
Thy maidens are white like pebbles; Their music about thee!
There is none like thee among the dancers; None with swift feet.
Ezra Pound (1885 - 1972)
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